


12 Days of Fic Mas 2016 Day 1: Letters to Santa

by Ashlee1989



Series: 12 Days of Fic Mas 2016 [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Fic Mas 2016, Angst, Ficmas, Letters to Santa, M/M, One Shot, Pining James Sholto, Sorry for the pain, the rest will be happier I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:09:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8848081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlee1989/pseuds/Ashlee1989
Summary: 12 Days of Fic Mas 2016: Day 1.The prompt was letters to Santa.James writes to Santa (and others) after John is injured in Afghanistan





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @HollyShadow88 for the beta. And thanks to @hudder-and-hiddles(huddersandhiddles) for the prompt.  
> I am sorry for all the feels and I promise the rest will not be as feelsy.

James did not go to the mess hall for dinner that night. As soon as his shift was over he left without a word .The walk back to his blessedly single room in the barracks was a blur. No one would look him in the eye as he passed; if any one saluted he didn't take notice. It was only when he had shut the door behind him that he even dared to breathe. He sat down at his cheap, wooden Ikea desk and buried his head in his hands. Control yourself, Sholto; the stoic, military side of his brain ordered. He allowed himself another few seconds and then sat up straight and wiped at his eyes. With a deep, shaky breath he pulled the nondescript, black leather journal from the drawer. He stared at the blank page for a moment, raised his pen to write, and then put it back down. The words wouldn't come, or at least not to his pen. Writing it down felt...too real. He closed the journal and set down the pen. No, this was wrong, it was too quiet. His thoughts were too loud, almost deafening, he needed to get this out. He picked the pen up once again, and this time the words almost spilled out. Once he finished he sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't ok, but he felt a little better, a little lighter. He looked back at the rushed words on the pages. He had written it almost like a prayer without even realizing.  
“Dear Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Father Christmas, Easter Bunny...anyone who can hear me. I am not even sure I believe in miracles, but today I need a one. There's a man, a doctor, in my command. He...he was shot today. They took him away in a helicopter. They said his injury was too severe to treat here at camp. They took him to a military hospital in Germany, they were the closest ones with an open bed. I didn't get to see him before they took him. I don't know how extensive his injuries are. For all I know he could be dying or dead...oh Christ. I am not a religious man, but God if you're there. Let him live. Let John Watson live. He is a good man, no, he's a great man. A better man than I'll ever be. I don't deserve someone like him. I can be selfish, cold, and unfeeling; but he makes me better. So please, please let him come back to me, let him live.  
John Watson is special. He makes the room brighter when he's in it. I'll admit that at first I was slightly intimidated by his cheerful nature. I don't know how to react very well to people like that. John wasn't intimidated though, he was kind and soft with me. I didn't realise his affections for me in the beginning, I assumed that he treated everyone that way. Then one night at mess he rested his hand on my thigh as we ate. Unsure of what to do, I returned to my room immediately after I finished. When he came to my room later, I was uncertain of what he wanted. I thought he would be angry at me for not acknowledging him. Instead he took me by the hand and asked if we could talk. And we did. Then we kissed. From then on John would come to my room after mess. We would talk, and I would laugh. I haven't laughed like that in years. At night we would lie in bed and hold each other. Lazily kissing and dreaming about returning to civilian life.  
I have been on many tours of duty before this, and I can honestly say that John Watson has made this tour bearable. His smile is the first thing I seek out in the morning and the last I see before I sleep. Without him here the days will become monotonous and grey, and I do not know if I can bear that. It is doubtful that even if he lives, he will return to base. I know that. I know that I may not see him again for quite some time. But just the knowledge that he is alive, that he is still in the world would be enough. So please. For me. Let John Watson be ok, let him live. “  
Wiping his eyes on his sleeves once more, James returned the journal to its place. He switched off the desk lamp and crawled into his bed that was very noticeably missing his John.


End file.
